


DeMille Has Nothing On Us

by HandsAcrossTheSea



Series: Those Hazy Days I Do Remember [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, Car Sex, Come Sharing, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Tapes, Size Kink, Top Sam, brother kink, jerking off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-15 22:21:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13622697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HandsAcrossTheSea/pseuds/HandsAcrossTheSea
Summary: "Hey Dean - wanna film it?"





	DeMille Has Nothing On Us

**Author's Note:**

> There is a gifset on Tumblr (that I would link if I knew how) of season one brothers and a video camera, so naturally I took that and ran so fucking far with it that I should probably be accused of being so, so extra that I am locked up. I'm pretty sure that I had intended to make this idea happen at some point in the past but just never got around to it, so here we are, thirteen thousand words and one very frustrated author later. I don't what to tell you guys, honestly, I just can't get enough of writing nasty brother filth.

            “You ever think about how much salt we’ve left in motel rooms, Dean?” 

            Dean looks up from Sam’s laptop, answering Sam’s back where he’s facing the door, bent over and laying a salt line behind the jamb.  “Can’t say that I really have.  Sure it’s raised some weird questions from housekeeping.”  His eyes linger on Sam for a moment, covered up still in his bulky jacket; Western New York in March is surprisingly cool.  Any leg work they do at night is going to have be done bundled up.  Yeah it kind of obscures Sam’s body but hey, better Sam healthy than Sam with a cold.

            “I mean, think about it.  If any of the rooms we’ve stayed in are or will be a crime scene, they’re gonna see some weird shit if they shine a UV light over it.”  Sam’s at the window now, pushing aside the curtains and coating the sill.  “CSI would think a cult had stayed there or something.”

            “Look, I’m sure that weird shit in a motel room kinda comes with the job.”  Dean looks back to the screen, re-reading the article Sam had found about a string of strange deaths around Buffalo, all involving self-strangulation and the victims turning solid red upon their demise.  Dean’s betting on witches, and Sam’s going with imported Near East magic.  Either way, Dean’s scratching his head for more information.  Dad’s journal hasn’t shed much insight, and even with their combined brain power it’s taken a lot to put together just an _idea_ of what the fuck it is they’ve got on their hands.

            “Not to mention the regular mess people leave behind.  You know, come stains on the sheets, blood, piss…”  Sam grins at Dean, putting his salt away and getting out the UV paint he uses to paint those aforementioned sigils.  Dean watches Sam a little more closely, his motions as he marks up the door more practiced than they were four months ago.

            It kind of breaks Dean’s heart how easily Sam’s slipping back into the lifestyle, except now he’s better at it than before. They had taken the chance to drop by a shooting range and do target practice for a while last week, and Sam had nailed every single shot, steady as always.  Yeah, Dean’s good with a gun, very good in fact – but Sam’s a fucking pro, as much at home with a Beretta in his hands as he is a book of poetry.  Well… not that Sam reads much poetry, but that dog eared copy of _Prufroc and Other Tales_ they found in January at a thrift store has been clutched in Sam’s hands like a security blanket at night.

            Alright, one hand; the other has been solidly wrapped around Dean, held to Sam’s naked chest like he’s not ever going to let go.  Dean grumbles about it – he has an obligation to – but the truth is he doesn’t want Sam to let go.  The last four months have been a continuous haze of hunting, the open road, and finding the groove that works best for them as both brothers and… other stuff.

            Dean doesn’t want to say boyfriend – the term just isn’t big enough for what Sam is, to him at least.  Sam wouldn’t like it either, and that’s the weird part.  As much as Sam enjoys talking crap out, labeling what they have is not something he’s keen to discuss.  It’s an understanding between them, just one of many that runs so fucking deep that explaining it to anyone else who might be curious would be useless.

            He looks away from Sam and back to his lap top, making his brain shut the fuck up to focus on the job.  Sam’s here, he’s not going anywhere, and the king sized bed against the wall should be proof enough that Dean isn’t dreaming again.  Sam had been insistent, putting those puppy dog eyes to work and wrangling a reduced fee from the front desk clerk when he had lit her up with those dimples.

            Dean loves him, far more than he should be allowed to.

            “I’d say we’ve left our fair share of the first two behind.”  They had two days ago in Lansing, and Dean’s nearly positive that the spot he’d left when Sam fucked him face down had still been drying when they checked out.  That’s been the other thing, the continuous, hot, sweaty, nasty jungle sex they’ve been having at every possible chance.  At this point it’s no longer “I missed you so goddamn much I have to have you sex” and “I fucking want you so bad it hurts” sex.

            And it keeps getting better, four years and a little more maturity attuning them to each other even more than before.  Yeah, Sam can still be a little pissant (and Dean certainly isn’t expecting that to change) but he’s also got a huge fucking dick and a sex drive that makes Dean wonder why the hell he’s the only one being targeted.  Sam has enough goddamn stamina to keep a lot of people happy, and Dean’s doing his best to not question it.

            Not to mention that backing that sex drive up is that fucking golden heart of Sam’s, aggravatingly full of empathy and love and a whole bunch of other stuff that Dean’s always going to be greedy for.  Dean doesn’t deserve it, not when Sam wraps his arms around him at night, nor when Sam looks at him a hundred times a day and manages to say _I’m not here for anyone else, Dean_ with nothing but his eyes and a quirk of his lips.

            Dean covers his mouth with his hand and scrolls down the page, reading without really understanding and forcing his brain away from analyzing… them.  He’s been doing it way too much lately, and he knows that Sam knows it, except Sam has the decency to not call him out on it.  Makes it easier to just kiss him when he starts to go down the rabbit hole, letting his mouth and tongue say what he wants without uttering a word.

            And alright, maybe some of that sex is still about missing Sam.

            Sam’s finished painting sigils now, standing behind Dean, not touching him, but close enough to where Dean can catch the faint scent of his cologne and whatever else it is that makes him smell so goddamn appealing.  “Hey, I found something.”

            “What, come stains and blood?”  Dean looks back at whatever it is Sam’s holding, getting up for closer inspection.  It’s a case, black, sturdy canvas, and inside it-

            “It’s a camcorder.”  Sam holds it in his left hand, fingers dwarfing the black, plastic body.  “A brand new one, too.”

            “And it was just left behind?”  Dean takes it from him and looks for himself. Yeah, it is brand new, the sticky protective plastic still on the little viewing screen that flips out from the side.  “Got an ‘if found, please return to’ thing in it?”

            Sam digs through the bag, pulling out memory cards, a charging cable, a lens cap – but nothing else.  “Looks like it was just… forgotten.”

            Dean peels off the plastic protecting the operating buttons and thumbs it on, presented with the top of Sam’s shoes through the lens.  “Hey, it’s already got some juice in it.”  He pans up Sam’s body, zooming in on his crotch because why wouldn’t he, and then ends on Sam’s face, frowning at him and telling him “to cut it out, Dean, it’s not ours.”

            “Well there ain’t anyone breaking the door down to get it back, Sammy.”  Fuck, Sam’s eyes are beautiful zoomed in on, caught somewhere between stormy gray and green today.  “Think that makes it ours.”

            “We should turn it in.”  Sam reaches for the camera and Dean steps back, grinning.  “Dean, c’mon!”

            “Smile for the camera, baby boy.”  Dean keeps the focus in spite of Sam’s repeated attempts to take it from him, dodging Sam’s swipes and trying not to laugh at the annoyed tone that’s getting more and more prominent in Sam’s voice.

            “Dean, put it down.”  Sam drops the petulant tone and drifts towards _get on your knees and swallow my cock_ mode – it’s a bitch move, but Sam’s gotten a much better idea of his strengths and that’s like, number three in his arsenal, right behind all of those fucking muscles and his steel trap mind.  Using all three at the same time, for Dean at least, leads to a lot of spine tingling and this compulsion to do whatever the fuck Sam says.

            “ _Make me_.”  Dean backs himself against the bed and keeps the camera on Sam, wishing like hell he could pop in a memory card and keep the footage around for… research purposes.  Sam’s hot when he’s flustered, and if he’s not figured out by now that this is exactly why Dean does it, maybe he isn’t quite as brainy as Dean had assumed.

            “Dean.”  Sam’s two steps away now, fingers curling to make a fast swipe for the camera and (hopefully) do something about Dean being aggravating.  “It’s not ours.”

            “Could be, though.”  At this point, he’s not even worried about the camera, far more interested in the way Sam’s voice has gotten all low and growly.  “Might even be useful.”

            Sam doesn’t reach for it just yet, trapping Dean so that even if he does yank it out of reach, all Sam has to do is push and Dean’s flat on his back with the full weight of his brother on top of him.  “Yeah, because you’re so handy with a shotgun in one hand and a Sony in the other.”

            “It’s actually a Canon but yeah, I am.”  Dean tries to keep his voice level but Sam’s fucking close to him, looking all broad and just threatening enough that Dean’s starting to get turned on.  “It’d be a hell of a thing if we uploaded actual ghost footage to some message board, wouldn’t it?”

            “And scare people more than they already are, yeah, Dean, why not.  What are you gonna do, ask a demon to hold still and give you their best side?”

            Sam gets the camera from him, plucking it from Dean’s fingers before he even realizes it’s gone.  Damn the fucking _presence_ Sam has when he needs it to work for him.

            “Could be worth a shot.  Hell, sell it to some nutjob who’s willing to pay a lot of cash for it.”

            “Our job is to take care of problems, Dean, not profit from them.”  Curiosity gets the better of Sam and he turns the camera on Dean, fingers gentle as he tilts the screen up to get a better view.  “And we are _not_ keeping this, we’re turning it in.”

            “You sure, Sammy?” Dean purses his lips towards and the lens and grabs his crotch, rubbing himself as provocatively as possible and earning a world-record length eye roll from Sam.  “Because I think we could have a lot of fun with that.”

            “What, filming each other?”

            Sam looks up, his expression changing from curious and mildly annoyed to _I just now understand what I said._

Dean quirks his eyebrows, grinning at Sam and waiting.

            “We aren’t doing it right _now,_ Dean.  We’ve got… we’ve got dead bodies and revenge to exact.”  His words don’t carry as much conviction as he probably wants them to, but Dean supposes he’s got a point.

            “Okay, but just remember you didn’t say no.”  Dean presses his advantage and grabs Sam by the waist, pulling their bodies flush and looking up at him.  “Because that’d be hot as fuck, Sammy.”

            “Yeah, I know I didn’t.”  Sam licks his lips, his breath slowing, acceptance at being under Dean’s spell making him bend his neck and brush his mouth against Dean’s.  Just that little bit of contact is enough to start the fire, fueled by the way Sam’s giant left hand is pressed against the small of his back.

            “Think people’d watch, it, Sammy?  Get off on the fact we’re brothers?”  Dean supposes that it’s kind of sick but he long ago stopped feeling bad about wanting Sam, and damn whatever it is that people want to think of them.

            “I think that this isn’t a discussion to have right this second.  Kinda have a job to do.”  Sam kisses him again, only this time there’s intent and heat and a promise that he’s going to rail Dean at the first possible opportunity.

            “Promise we’ll take this up as soon as it’s done?”

            Sam’s tongue sliding into his mouth is covenant enough for Dean.

___

            “This town give you a weird vibe too, Sammy?”

            Dean sucks the meat off of another hot wing, his fingers and mouth covered in sauce that, as promised, would indeed set his tongue on fire.  How something so incredibly spicy could come from such a quaint little place as Sperryville, Virginia is beyond him.  Since when do they like hot wings in Appalachia?

            Sam doesn’t respond to his question, gazing out the window towards the eighteen wheelers across the lot. It’s the second day of April, and Sam’s been quiet since they left Kentucky that morning.

            Five months to the day since Jessica burned against the ceiling of their apartment.

            Dean wipes his fingers on an already ruined napkin and picks up another wing, his second to last.  Sam had eaten his turkey burger in complete silence, chewing slowly without actually tasting it, in spite of the fact that it was one, turkey, and two, even Dean had to admit it smelled pretty damned good.

            You know, for a _turkey_ burger.

            Sam finally looks over at him, the thousand yard stare still in his eyes.  “Huh?”

            “Said that this town gives off a weird vibe.  Like no one here curses or drinks and Grandmas don’t die.”  Dean wipes his mouth and stares at the lone wing left in the red-checkered paper tray, then looks back to Sam.  “You want it?”

            Sam waves him off and goes back to staring out the window.  “Think we’d know about it if the grandmas never died here, Dean.”

            “Yeah, well, it’s still too quaint.”  Dean does at least try to savor this last, precious wing – but Sam’s silent ruminating is way too fucking loud.  God, they had been doing great up til that morning, Sam had been giving just as good as he got, laughing, teasing, putting down evil bitches just as well as Dean – and then this, the stony, brooding, lost-in-his-own mind colossus that Dean knows all too well predates three days of Sam barely eating or saying a word.

            Dean gets out of the car and walks the fifty steps to the nearest garbage can, taking a second to take in the view of the mountains and feel the cool, high-altitude breeze wash over him.  He thinks about what he can do for Sam, a back rub, or a walk in the park, just _anything_ to get him out of this deadlock of shit thoughts that are making him so… down. 

            Even if Sam doesn’t think that he gets it, Dean does.  Dean knows an awful fucking lot about depression, how much it sucks.  Knows good and well that he can’t tell Sammy to just snap out of it, to be happy – it doesn’t fucking work like that.

            The window of the passenger door is open and Dean finger combs his hair real quick, pops the collar on his jacket, and puts on his best just-for-Sam smirk.  He’s not kissed Sam properly yet today, and who knows, maybe that’ll help.  Physical contact is good for you, or so they say.

            It certainly always makes Dean feel better.

            Dean leans in Sam’s window, chin resting on his hands.  “Hey.”

            Sam’s eyebrows furrow, but there is just a hint of a smile. “Hey.”

            “Been thinkin’, Sammy.”  Dean reaches out and touches Sam’s cheek, rubbing along the curve of his jaw with his fingertips.  “Want to know what about?”

            “If you’re talking about that thing I did the other night with the ice, we’re gonna have to wait til we stop for the night.”  Sam’s turning into his touch, so he is at least trying to respond to whatever it is that even Dean has yet to come up with.

            “Nah, nothin’ like that.  I mean, that was hot as shit, but…”  Dean leans in and kisses him, slow and sweet, mouth open as his fingers slide up and around the back of Sam’s head, his silky hair almost impossibly smooth against his skin.  Sam hums, low in his chest, trying to pull Dean through the window of the car and into his lap.

            Hey, at least his plan is starting to work.

            Sam reaches for the collar of Dean’s jacket and holds him in place, licking the lingering taste of hot sauce from his mouth.  It can’t be the best taste in the world but Dean isn’t going to judge, not when Sam’s doing it in such a way that it reminds him of when he’s eating him out.  Dean moans, leaning in a bit too far and nearly tumbling through the open window.

            Laughing, Sam helps him back out until Dean’s standing upright and trying his hardest to own his fumble.  “Either I can get out of the car or you can back in, your pick.”

            “Don’t move,” Dean says, adjusting his boner as he considers power sliding across the hood just to show off for Sam.  He decides against it and the second he’s back behind the driver’s wheel he’s got Sam’s mouth again, more insistent this time, welcoming the feel of those hot, powerful hands as they start to roam over his body.  He spreads his legs and leans back, encouraging Sam to come closer.

            Only Sam doesn’t, but instead lets Dean go and looks at him like he’s studying a painting.  “Don’t move.”

            “Okay, but… why?”

            Sam gets the camera bag from the back seat and quirks his eyebrows.  “I hadn’t forgotten.”

            “Me neither.”  Dean’s mouth goes dry as Sam turns the camcorder on and flips out the little viewing screen, licking his lips at what has to be a pretty fucking good shot of Dean.  “You sure you’re okay with doing it here, I mean it’s… kind of in public.”

            “Had some thoughts about that, Dean.”  Sam puts the camera down and gets his own jacket off, leaving him in just a dark green t-shirt that’s been washed so many times it’s three shades lighter than when Sam bought it off the clearance shelf last year.  “I wanna make a jerk off film first.”

            “Kinda vanilla, isn’t it?”  Dean gropes his bulge at Sam anyway, sprawled out and trying to make himself look as enticing as possible.  “But I see your point.”

            “Gotta tease our audience first, Dean.”  Sam holds the camcorder rock steady with his right hand, fingers slid through the strap on the side while his left hand touches his cock through his jeans – Dean locks his gaze on that, watching Sam cup his bulge and balls.  Relief floods through him, that Sam’s managed to put aside the melancholy long enough to indulge Dean.

            “What are you waiting for, Sammy, get over here.”  Dean gets out his jacket and throws it in the backseat, feeling naked already without it.  He pinches his nipples through his black t-shirt, hoping it gets Sam moving.

            Except Sam doesn’t, looking up from the camera and right at Dean.  “Wanna film you first, Dean.”  Sam’s voice is low and rough, seduction mode turned up to full fucking blast.  “Been wanting to do this for a long time.”

            “That thing recording, Sammy?”

            Sam nods, and alright, Dean’s ninety nine percent sure he knows exactly what Sam wants.  “Do what, baby?”

            “Film my hot big brother behind the wheel of his hot car.”  Sam’s caught between trying to be the dirty camera man and touching himself, and watching him struggle just gets Dean hotter.  “Look so fuckin’ good, Dean.”

            “Damn right I do.”  Dean grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it up to his neck, flashing Sam his stomach and tits.  He plays with his chest, tugging and teasing each nipple, getting them so hard that even the breeze coming through the open windows is enough to make him squirm.

            “Shit, Dean, keep doing that.”  Sam licks his lips, hand plunging into the waistband of his still buckled and buttoned jeans.  “Got such pretty tits, big brother.”

            Dean’s shirt is gone in a second, leaving him in just the amulet.  “Like that, Sammy?”  Dean stretches his arms out, flexing his abs (which aren’t nearly as well defined as Sam’s, but hey, can’t have everything) and looks into the camera.  “Fuckin’ right that’s my little brother filming me, only he’s not so little when he takes his pants off.”

            “ _Dean._ ”

            Dean smirks and unbuckles his belt, sliding his fingers nice and slow down the length of his belly.  “He’s a little shy at first but don’t you worry, you’ll get to see him soon enough.”  God he’s turned on, his jeans feeling offensively tight on him.  “Think I’ve teased him enough.”

            Sam doesn’t breathe as Dean slides his jeans and boxers down, his cock snapping out of his waistband and hitting his stomach with a lewd slap.  “See how hard I am for you, Sammy?”

            “Fuck yeah I do, Dean, shit.”  Sam moves a little closer to get a close up of the strands of precome Dean’s making with his fingers, stretching them as far as they’ll go before they fall under their own weight.  Dean milks his cock until there’s a large bead at the slit, smearing it around his glans until his skin is shiny with it.  Sam follows Dean’s hand with the camera up to his mouth, zoomed in as Dean licks his fingers clean.

            “Wanna taste?”  Dean offers his fingers to Sam – Sam shakes his head, too focused on Dean’s cock and body to worry too much about himself right now. 

            “Keep going.”  Sam looks Dean in the eye, and Dean figures he’s got about five minutes before Sam creams his pants from sheer excitement.  Hell, Dean’s getting close too, turned on by the thrill of his _little brother_ filming him and very much getting off on it.

            “Wanna know what we do off camera?  We fuck every chance we get.”  Dean pushes his jeans down until they’re around his ankles, spreading his legs so that he can show off his balls and hole.  “Can’t tell you how many days I walk around with my brother’s load leaking out of me, ass stretched and numb from taking that big fucking cock.”  Dean tugs at his balls, looking at Sam as much as he is the camera.  “Can’t fucking get enough of it, ever.”

            Sam’s practically chewed through that pretty pink bottom lip of his, trying to hold the camera steady as he jerks himself off inside his jeans, the veins in his forearm popped where he’s got himself in a tight grip.  “Gettin’ me close, Dean.”

            “Yeah, Sammy?”  Dean lets go of his balls and rubs his hole, his right hand still stroking his cock with long, deliberate motions, the calluses on his own fingers making him shudder every time he bumps the head.  “Bet you can’t wait to get me in bed, face down and ass up, begging for your cock.”

            Sam moans, audible but invisible to the audience they don’t have yet, finally relenting and getting his cock out of his jeans one-handed.  “Fuck, Dean, I do.”

            “Me too, Sammy.”  Dean watches Sam stroke himself, timing his own movements with Sam’s.  “Fuckin love it when you hold me down and breed me, baby boy.”  Dean watches Sam’s hand falter on himself, squeezing his cock to try and hold back his orgasm just a little longer.  His fingers are coated with precome, the dusky pink head of his cock shiny where he’s been leaking continually.  Dean very badly wants to get his mouth on him, stick his tongue under his foreskin and swallow every fucking drop.

            Sam’s right on the edge, cock pointed at the back of the seat where he’s turned to face Dean.  “Fuck, Dean, I’m gonna fucking bust.”

            Dean speeds up, wanting to come at the same time as Sam.  “Do it, Sammy, show me that fuckin’ load.”  God, he’s hot, too hot, sweat dripping down his back and making his naked thighs stick to the seat under him.  He’s right there with Sam, cock pointed up so that he can mess himself up.  Sam manages to get two more good strokes before he comes hard, splattering the back of the seat with enough force that Dean can fucking _hear it,_ every single shot making a soft _thump-thump-thump_ the leather.

            He comes the second Sam’s orgasm is over, hitting his mouth and neck four times before the rest drips down his chest and stomach, a one-in-a-million money shot that Dean knows will get recycled into a compilation of “best amateur comeshots” at some point.  He smiles for the camera, licking the come from his lips and blowing a kiss before Sam shuts it off and launches himself at Dean, licking him from his navel up to his chest, scooping up as much come as he possibly can before shoving his tongue into Dean’s mouth.  Dean holds on tight to the back of Sam’s head, keeping their mouths jammed together as he fucks Sam’s mouth, greedy for the taste of his own body from his brother’s palette.

            “That’s the part we don’t show yet,” Sam whispers, going for another taste from Dean’s neck and collarbone.  “But you just made the best jerk off vid I’ve ever seen.”

            “Depends on how many you’ve watched, Sammy.”  Dean gets his hand on Sam’s cock, still hard and dripping come.  Sam groans, threatening to collapse on top of Dean and put them in an incredibly uncomfortable position if he does.

            “Enough to know,” Sam says, his eyes wild with lust and something deeper – admiration, maybe, probably the same thing Dean feels every fucking time Sam so much as looks at him.  “When you wanna upload it?

            “After you fuck me tonight.”  Dean kisses Sam again, a little more softly this time.  “If you’re okay with that.”

            “You just let me tape you talking about _breeding_ you Dean, what the hell do you think?”

            Dean ends up getting fucked so hard and well that night when they land in Helen, Georgia that Sam could ask for his soul and Dean would hand it to him giftwrapped.

            Of course, when has he ever been able to say no to his little brother?

___

            Dean is starting to hate everything about tacos, especially the ones with extra peppers and onions.  It’s the third time in an hour he’s had to run to the bathroom and… deal with his poor decision.

            But they were so damned good that he’s going back to that stand for dinner and he’ll make it up to Sam with a blowjob.  Not just any blowjob, a really fucking good one that leaves spit dripping down Sam’s balls for a week.  Sam hadn’t made a snarky comment, just rolled his eyes and said “it’s your lunch, Dean, not mine” and left him to his fate.

            Hopefully the town hall cleaning staff have some decent air freshener, because Dean had offended himself mightily when he’d gone back for what was hopefully his last visit.  They’re down in the basement of the Kearney, Nebraska courthouse, looking through official reports of an eighty year old massacre that had repeated itself three days before they had arrived – a lot of slit throats in the town square, people clutching at their hearts as it happened.  Nasty, nasty stuff, whatever it is, and they’ve been here for four hours and so far haven’t found out much.

            Sam, of course, isn’t ready to give up yet.

            “Hey, Dean, check this out.”  Sam shoves his laptop towards Dean as he sits down gingerly – and is presented with the video that he made nearly two weeks ago now, paused on the opening shot of Dean’s groping himself.  Dean looks around quickly, making sure that no one else is paying attention – and wondering just how the fuck Sam managed to look at porn on a government network.

            “Um… it’s me.”  Dean hasn’t actually watched it for himself yet, but that doesn’t mean now is an appropriate time to do so.  “And this has what to do with the job, exactly?”

            “Not a damn thing, but _look –_ you’ve passed fifty thousand views.”  Sam’s grinning at him, his dimples deep in his cheeks and his eyes bright.  “Think that qualifies you as a porn star, dude.”

            “Doesn’t count unless people have actually gotten off to it, baby boy.”  Dean turns the laptop back towards Sam, still looking over his shoulder.

            “Yeah, you should see the playlist that people have made of themselves watching it.  Think it definitely counts.”  Sam tries to show him those too, but Dean waves him off.  God, Dean doesn’t have a thing against porn but if someone sees _him_ in person – and on screen – that’d be awkward.

            And it’s not like they couldn’t put Sam’s voice to the camera man’s, either.  “Okay, okay, I’m legit.”  Dean pauses for a second, thinking about what Sam’s just told him and grins.  “Sammy, I’m _legit._ ”

            Sam nods and gives him one of those “I don’t look up to anyone but you” looks that always makes Dean feel like he’s not quite doing enough for his brother.  “Yeah, you fucking are, Dean.”  He leans over the table and gives Dean a soft, lingering kiss before sitting back down and turning the next frame of the microfilm reader.

            Dean sits there for a second, dragging Sam’s legal pad towards him and flips through the pages, looking over what all he’s written without actually reading a single word.  “So uh… have you?”

            “Have I what?”

            “You know.  Gotten off to it.”  Yeah, he knows Sam was there, and knows exactly how prominent the come stains still are on the seat of the Impala. 

            Sam looks up at him, trying not to laugh.  “Um… yeah, Dean, I was two feet away from you.”

            “No, Sammy, like… _gotten off_ to it.”  Dean gives Sam back his legal pad and looks around again, double checking that no one’s leaning in to try and hear what they’re saying.  It’s gotten all of a sudden very warm in here, and Dean has to fight against the urge to take his jacket off.

            Sam holds his gaze, expression turning soft as he covers Dean’s hand with his own, tracing over his knuckles in lazy patterns.  “Yeah, Dean, I have.  Four times now.”

            “Am I really that good?”  When exactly Sam’s found the time to jerk off _without_ Dean there, he can’t be sure.  Well, there were a couple nights last week where Sam had turned him down to go boozing, _insisting_ that Dean go and enjoy himself, that he was fine right where he was.  “Wait, you… shit, Sam, that’s hot.”

            “I felt kinda guilty since I have the flesh and blood version literally right there but… I’ve always wanted to do that, Dean.  Jerk off to you on a porn site.”  Sam takes his hand away and starts fiddling with his pen, looking down at the table.  “I may have spent a lot of time in school looking for you on one of those sights.  Was sure some chick would uh… do that, I guess.  Thought I’d found you for sure a couple times.”

            Christ, if he had known that Sam had actively been trolling for porn of him like that he’d have gone to CVS and developed any damn thing of him that Sam wanted.  “Hey, Sammy, listen, that… that wasn’t gonna happen with anyone but you.”

            Sam shrugs, his gaze still on his notes.  “I’m not mad about it, just… forget it, I’m just glad I finally got to do it.”

            Dean gets up and comes around to Sam’s side of the table, scooting his chair close and cupping Sam’s jaw to turn his head.  “Listen to me, Sammy.  We’re gonna make the best goddamn fuck tape out there and if you think there were jealous people before, just wait til they see you pounding the hell out of me.  All that shit we talked about in the video?  Yeah, we’re doing it.  Gonna make every goddamn bit of it come true, and there’s not gonna be a motherfucker out there who gets to have us like that.”

            Sam’s not ready for the kiss Dean gives him, a muffled hmph making Dean’s lips tingle as he kisses Sam as fiercely as he dares, struggling to not climb out of his seat and into Sam’s lap.  When Sam breaks the kiss, Dean knows exactly what kind of fire he’s just started in Sam’s belly.

            “You know uh… I haven’t returned the favor yet, right?  Fair’s fair, Dean, you get to record me too.”  Sam’s not kidding around, apparently having convinced himself that this little adventure operates on some level of trades that Dean wasn’t going to even bother thinking about unless Sam said so.

            “Anything you want, Sammy, but right now I got just one question.”  Dean’s stomach is feeling much better, and they could honestly use a break right now anyway.

            “And that would be… what?”

            “You wanna fuck off and watch some porn together?”

            Dean doesn’t think he’s seen Sam move so fast in his life.

___

            There are only two effective counters to hangovers, Dean’s found.  The first one is a greasy burger and the biggest fucking cup of soda that he can get his hands on.  Dean’s eaten more in that context than he cares to think about, and so far he’s only thrown them back up twice.

            The second – and more effective counter – is to get out in the sun and wash the car, because it’s a fight against his own body to keep from hurling all over the paintwork.  At least this time he had been hungover for a damned good reason, one that had ended in he, Sam, and Bobby getting monstrously drunk on some thirty year old whiskey that Bobby had been traded in favor for clearing up a poltergeist on the far side of town.

            Yesterday had been Sam’s birthday, his twenty third.  They had arrived in Sioux Falls the night before, greeting Bobby so fucking loudly that he had nearly pulled a gun on them and sworn that they had no damned business arriving in the middle of the night like that and scaring the hell out of them.

            But a party is a party, and later that day they’d all gotten absolutely tanked, with Sam passing out last and waking up first.  Dean had had every intention of waking him up with a blowjob as one of many orgasms yesterday, only to find Sam stripped to his boxers and his head in the toilet in the upstairs guest bathroom.  Dean had tried to approach but even Sam’s slurred “don’t fucking touch me or I’ll rip your head off” had been enough to let Dean give him space and fuck off outside.

            That he’d barfed every bit of whatever poison it was Bobby had given them up in the junkyard, sweating booze and God knows what else until he’d gone back inside, gotten himself cleaned up, and gone back to look for Sam.

            The last Dean saw him, Sam was lying face down in the king size bed they’d shared (the same one they had had as kids every time they’d stayed there over the years) and snoring.  Dean had left him be and made himself a bacon and egg sandwich for breakfast, made a pot of coffee twice as strong as Bobby’s jet fuel, and then taken himself outside to give the Impala some long-needed TLC.

            Six months to the day, and Dean’s still wondering how bad off in the head Sam is from watching his girlfriend die on the ceiling.  He knows Sam still has nightmares, that he still reaches out for her in his sleep to try and help her down, get her out of the clutches of whatever the fuck put her there in the first place.  He believes Sam when he says he’s handling it, that he’s getting better – they’ve been trying hard to be honest about that shit, to not let the other retreat too far into their own heads until it’s too late.

            No, they don’t talk about it in daylight, or even in the car.

            But at night, when they can’t see each other, they listen.  Dean will lie with his head on Sam’s naked chest and his arm thrown up over his shoulder, confessing it into the firm, warm muscles that rise and fall under his cheek whatever it is that’s bothering, listening to the rumble of Sam’s reply where it comes from somewhere deep behind his heart, the low, throaty vibration making Dean feel impossibly blessed that those words are for him and him alone.

            Dean looks towards the house and the window where Sam’s probably still sleeping.  Bobby’s been gone since before breakfast, and it doesn’t look like he’s going to be home any time soon.  Dean had found a note explaining he was a couple counties over for the day, something about helping another junk yard out for the day. 

            Which means that if he does want some alone time with Sam, they’re in the clear.  Even in the last few months his brother has grown up more, muscles getting bigger with the practice of grave digging, shooting, sharpening knives, and all the other brutally physical work of being a hunter.  The softness that school had tried to attach to him is gone, and while he hates that it ever happened to them in the first place, Dean can’t help but be into just how fucking _rugged_ Sam’s starting to look.

            The sickly feeling of too much alcohol is gone, replaced by the slow burning heat of unfulfilled lust.  He had been serious about getting his mouth on Sam earlier, mostly to whet his appetite for whatever the fuck he wants the rest of the day – Dean doesn’t have anything else to give him but himself, and he can’t think of too many other occasions when Sam’s asked for any more than that.

            He finishes his inspection of the engine slams the hood of the Impala and goes to look for a bucket and soap, ducking into the shed where an elderly, faded blue Ford sits with its drive train dismantled and the doors propped against its sides.  It isn’t long before he finds what he’s looking for, tucking a half-empty jar of wax in his back pocket before he leaves the shed and goes to drag the hose over to where the Impala sits.

            There’s a fairly strong breeze, so of course in the process of hosing down the car Dean ends up getting wet, his shirt clinging to his body and arms so that he feels the weight of the cotton dragging against his skin every time he moves.  He’d take it off but he doesn’t want to add sunburn to his list of problems, so he leaves it on and tries his best to ignore it, his mind going pleasantly blank with the process of cleaning up his baby.  He kind of wishes Sam was here, knowing he’d be shirtless within two seconds of getting wet and having Dean against the side of the car in three.

            He lets that thought keep him company as he washes and polishes from the rocker panels to the roof, not stopping until he can see his reflection in every square inch of her body.  Yeah it won’t be long before _something_ inevitably fucks his hard work up but for now, she looks show ready.  He wipes his hands with a fresh rag and pats the hood, dumping the dirty water behind the shed and thinking ahead to what Bobby might have in the fridge for lunch.

            “Sammy, you hungry?,” Dean calls out, just in case Sam’s awake.  He sticks his head in the fridge and rubs his nipples, already hard from his wet shirt continually grazing them and getting almost uncomfortably so when the cold blast of air hits them. 

            “What?”

            Sam’s voice comes from somewhere downstairs, and Dean immediately goes to look for him.

            “I asked if you were…”  Dean finds him, stretched out on the couch in the living room/library, wearing jeans with no belt and a black tank top that’s ridden up to show a generous strip of belly and treasure trail.  Sam’s got a book propped up on his chest, some thick tome on lore that Dean doesn’t bother to read the title of.  “…hungry.”

            Wait, Sam’s fucking _barefoot_ too – did Dean miss something?  Fuck, with this much skin on display it’s as good as Sam being naked.

            “Nah, I already ate, what have you been…”

            It’s Sam’s turn to look at Dean all agog, taking in his clinging shirt and soaked jeans.  “Uh… you washed the car?”

            “Sure did, nice and shiny.”  Dean shoves his hands in his pockets, dragging his gaze up from Sam’s low-slung waistband (the top of his boxer briefs are just peeking out, and yet they’re still perilously low on his hips) to his face.  He looks a lot better than when he’d found him in the bathroom this morning, that’s for damn sure.  “You uh… you feeling okay?”

            “A lot, actually.  Found this in the dresser, didn’t figure it would still fit.”  Sam plucks at the tank top, looking awfully proud of himself.  “Little tight through the chest but hey, whatever works, right?”

            Dean tucks his bottom lip into his mouth and nods, trying to figure out what to do with this much Sam on display in broad daylight.  “You look uh, comfy.  You know, with your…” Dean gestures towards his bare feet and everything else, oddly pleased at Sam looking completely well, _relaxed._ Like he’s just some normal college kid with an afternoon to kill.

            “My what?”  Sam sits up a little and pushes his hair back, laying his book aside.  “Dean?”

            “You know what – don’t move.”

            Dean knows for a fact that he’d brought the camera in for the purpose of recording Sam doing shots, only to completely forget about it once Bobby’s whiskey had hit them full force.  He gives Sam a completely innocent smirk and heads for the stairs, taking them two at a time.  He strips off his wet clothes, yanks on a clean pair of boxers, grabs the camera, and heads back downstairs.

            Yeah, he’ll take them off for Sam in a minute but he does at least have them if he’s got to pull them on should Bobby come back unexpectedly early. Not that there would be much explaining their way out of this one but hey, it’s the illusion of modesty that keeps him going.

            Sam’s eyes are on him the second he comes around the corner, drinking in Dean’s body like he’s found an oasis in the middle of the desert.  “All that for me, Dean?”

            “In time – but Sam, right now, you look good enough to drop every pair of boxers from here to Manitoba.”  Dean raises the camera, keeping it pointed towards the floor just in case he’s misjudged.

            Instead, Sam laughs and stretches languorously, his abs pulling tight as he puts his hands behind his head.  “Seriously, Dean, _here_?”

            “Why not?  Certainly made out on that couch enough in the past, why not bring it full circle?”  Dean gets the camera running, giving thanks that he had remembered to charge it a couple days prior.

            “Guess you’re right about that.”

            Sam’s right hand comes out from behind his head and slides down his body from his chest to his crotch, fingers curling around his bulge as looks at the camera and says “what are you waiting for, Dean?”

            “Already hot, Sammy – show me what you’ve got.”

            Sam keeps his left arm pulled tight behind his head, his bicep bulging as he tugs his tank top up to his neck with his right hand.  “Like this, Dean?”  He rubs his chest, caressing each pec and biting his lip at the camera.

            “Fuck, Sammy, got such goddamn pretty tits and pits.”  Dean gets closer, panning slowly over Sam’s upper body, lingering on the patch of chest hair he’s finally stopped bothering to shave.  He didn’t have that before, at least not that Dean can recall – it just makes Dean want to touch him more, though – and he already spends as much time as possible with his hands on Sam’s body.

            Sam flexes for him, chest, abs, his left arm, proud of the muscles that don’t quite beat his still lanky frame.  He follows Sam’s hand back down his body, standing over his shoulder as Sam tucks his arm back behind his head and flicks open the button of his jeans, fingers scritching against his treasure trail as he slips them into his pants, stroking and teasing himself while looking back up at the camera.

            “Know you guys want to see my cock.”  Sam’s got them charmed, even though they haven’t seen it yet.  God, Dean’s never going to watch any other porn, is he, once this is up.  “Dean gets it any time he wants it, don’t you _big brother_?”

            “Fuckin’ right I do, baby.”  Dean’s got his free hand in his boxers now, stroking lazily as he pervs on Sammy.  “Kinda mean to tease, isn’t it?”

            “Not showing off for anyone but you, Dean.”  Sam raises his hips and pushes his jeans down, loose enough that he doesn’t even have to unzip them.  Dean nearly swallows his tongue when he sees the dark patch of Sam’s pubic hair peek out from the waistband of his underwear, barely hanging on and tenting out with his erection.  “Want ‘em to see what they don’t get.”

            Freaking Christ, Sam’s a whole different kind of hot when he gets all possessive.  “Show me, Sammy, show your big brother.”

            Dean’s knees nearly buckle under him when Sam’s cock flops out of his underwear, his slit just barely peeking out of his foreskin and dripping with precome.  He’s completely hard, pointed towards Sam’s face and throbbing, so long and thick that Sam would more than hold his own against any actual porn stars.  Sam moans as he wraps his fingers around the shaft and gives himself a long, slow stroke, pulling his foreskin down super fucking slowly, smearing his precome around so that it makes strings against the pink of his drawn back foreskin.

            “Fuck, Sammy, play with your foreskin some more.”  Dean gets close, focusing on Sam’s massive, beautiful hand as well, not breathing as Sam pinches and teases the loose tip, breathy little sounds spilling from his lips that Dean listens closer to even more than his favorite songs.  Sam gets lost in his own touch, keeping his palm close against the head of his cock, flicking his eyes back to the camera every few seconds just to make sure Dean is still watching, still there. 

            Like Dean’s going to give up a single fucking second of getting to watch Sam take himself apart like this.  “Doing so fuckin’ good, Sammy, working that fat cock for me.”  Dean gets out of his boxers and lets Sam see just how turned the fuck on he is, his own dick dripping with arousal as he strokes with Sam, dragging his eyes up the long line of his body to his muscles, that arm still pulled back so that every vein imaginable is popped and visible.  Sam looks like a fucking centerfold model, and the only person who gets to admire him is Dean.

            Were it not for Sam wanting to show the world just how much he gets off for Dean – and Dean only – he’d say fuck it, the only person who’d ever get to watch it is him.  Trouble is, Sam’s got a whole fucking lot to show off and Dean’s kind of smug about the same thing Sam is.  Fuck, he’s too hot, too much for just one person, isn’t he?  Why the hell Sam isn’t out there charming the pants off of any and everyone and hanging out with him is still beyond Dean, always has been.

            “Shit, Dean, I’m getting close.”  Sam’s been trying to keep it slow and steady, show off for the camera and draw it out as much as he can – but he’s been at it for ten minutes now, at least, and while Sam’s got all the stamina in the world for Dean, when he’s this turned on he can’t hold back, can’t resist his own fucking touch.  He’d outlasted Dean a couple weeks ago when they jerked off together (and the three times after) by barely a minute, coating himself and Dean with his load.

            Given how hard Sam’s working to not come, Dean already knows this is gonna be a fucking mess too.  He stands with the camera pointed over Sam’s shoulder, crouched down so that he can feel Sam’s body heat on his face.

            “C’mon, Sammy, show me that load.  Want everyone to see how much you come, how good you fill me up when you fuck me.”

            Sam’s hand speeds, up, a hoarse, half whispered _Dean_ breaking loose from his lips.  Dean’s got the camera focused steadily on Sam’s cock, watching a single, perfect white drop of come leak from the slit before Sam blasts himself in the face, shot after shot of come pumping out all over his chest and stomach.  Dean mutters _fuck_ under his breath, taken aback at the sheer volume Sam displays, his body shaking and flexing with the aftershocks, panting until he finally has to let go of his cock, oversensitive and flushed pink.

            Dean cuts the recording the second Sam smiles up at him and opens his mouth – he knows exactly what Sam wants.

            “On my tongue, Dean.”

            Dean tries, very, very hard, only his excitement gets the better of him and a great deal of his own come ends up all over Sam’s body, mingling with Sam’s and running down into his pubes – but enough of it goes exactly where Sam wants it, all over that hot, wet tongue, lapping at the underside of Dean’s cock greedily as Dean struggles to keep himself from floating away on an insanely powerful wave of hormones.  Jesus fucking Christ his little brother is too damned hot, and he fucking knows it.

            Sam grabs him for a sloppy, come-salty kiss, and Dean absolutely doesn’t mind that he’s going to end up needing another shower, not after he gets to lick Sam’s mouth and body clean. 

            “Swear to God I’m never gonna get tired of that, Sammy.”  Dean can feel their body hair starting to matte and stick, but he’s not exactly keen to get up just yet, either.  “Not as long as you keep letting me do it.”

            “What, coming in my mouth?”  Sam pulls Dean in for another long, tongue-sucking kiss, one that makes Dean’s head start to spin again.  “You’re the one who turned me into a come pig.”

            “I am _not_ a come pig, I just… like tasting you.”

            “Yeah, okay Dean.”  Sam grins up at him and rests his forehead against Dean’s, his hands smoothing down the expanse of Dean’s back to his ass.  “Feed me lunch and we’ll go upstairs to celebrate some more.”

            “Um, what if Bobby comes home?”  Not to mention that Sam just blew an enormous load – unless this is gonna be one of those slow fuck things, where Sam winds him up so much that refractory periods end up not mattering in the least.

            “Just means I’ll prep you know, fuck you later.  You brought that plug in from the car, didn’t you?”

            Later that night, Dean nearly bites through Sam’s fingers trying to stay quiet, but when he’s got that massive cock up his ass, what else does Sam expect?

            Then again, maybe a ball gag wouldn’t be such a bad idea…

___

            Most of the time when Dean awakes for Sam-related reasons in the middle of the night, it’s either because his brother’s dialed space heater mode up to eleven and Dean’s sweating right through the sheets, or Sam gropes him in his sleep and they engage in a little three am frottage.  Granted, the first thing normally ends in frottage too but it’s way sexier when Sam dreams about him and just… touches him while he’s unconscious.  Somnophilia, it’s fun stuff.

            Tonight, it’s got absolutely nothing to do with either of those things, and Dean wakes up to his head on the pillow instead of Sam’s chest and a long cold right side of the bed.  He’s awake in an instant, feeling the air in the room to see if the door’s open, or if something has just… taken Sam in the middle of the night.

            He hears the toilet flush, followed a moment later by the squeaky hinges of the bathroom door opening and Sam’s bare ass walking by in the treacly moonlight.  He heads for the table tucked in the front corner of the room, and Dean has to blink a couple times before he can make out Sam’s open laptop and a notebook beside him, glowing faintly with the light from his laptop’s screen.

            Dean sits up a little more, rolling onto his back and rubbing his eyes.  “Everything okay, Sammy?”

            Sam looks over at him, guilt making his eyes widen.  “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

            “You didn’t.”  Dean swings his legs out from under the covers and sits on the edge of the bed for a moment, clearing the fuzziness of REM from his brain.  If Sam’s got insomnia, Dean’s going to do everything in his power to make that not happen.  He needs his pillow back anyway.

            “Um… this isn’t what it looks like, I promise.”  Sam hugs his laptop towards him, even though he’s got nowhere to go with it.

            “Look, dude, if you need some alone time, I can always go back to bed and see you in the morning.”  Dean had given him a damned good blowjob in the shower earlier but if Sam needs some time with his own body, who the hell is Dean to begrudge him that?

            “Yeah, not exactly.”  Sam is indeed watching porn, but he’s also not _watching porn._ Dean looks between Sam’s legs, his cock soft and untouched, and that notepad next to him, he’s-

            “You’re taking fucking notes, Sammy?  On porn?”  Dean crouches down next to him and kisses Sam’s bicep, feeling his brother’s frown in the dark.

            “Hey, I have a reason, alright?”  Sam pushes the notepad towards him and Dean examines it a little more closely.  There’s a rough drawing of a bed in the middle of the page, and a whole bunch of angles drawn from various points around it.

            “Okay, Sam, I know we’re kind of on the nutjob end of the spectrum, doing what we do for a living, but even this looks it was drawn in a mental ward.  The kind where they don’t let people out, even on field trip today.”

            Sam takes the notepad from him and pulls the lid of his laptop halfway down, fixing Dean with his best “I’m being completely serious” face.  “I was doing research.  Filming one person, that’s easy, really.  Camera guy pans and zooms, focusing on the goods, job done.  Which, by the way, I’ve surpassed you in views now, so _ha._ ”

            “Yeah, whatever, rub it in – I was there in person, I ain’t mad about it.  You were saying about filming?”  Dean bets it’s not _that_ many more views, and it’s probably more due to his camera work and eye for artistic vision anyway. 

            “It’s… hard.  We have one camera, right, and we can either pass the camera back and forth when we take turns doing… whatever, or set it up on a tripod and not get finer details.  It’s, I don’t know, I’ve been thinking about it.”  Sam has that crazed look in his eyes – which means he’s been spending a little too much time running it through his brain.

            “Sammy, listen.”  Dean turns so that he can cup Sam’s face in his hands, making him look Dean dead in the eye.  “You need to turn the porn off, turn your brain off, and come to bed.  And tomorrow, or whenever, we’re gonna talk about this at some point when it’s not ten til three in the morning.  Who knows, I might even have some sharp insight to offer on this.”

            “But Dean, we… we have to make it good, people are counting on us.  Have you read the comments on our videos, they… fuck, Dean, people _like us.”_

“And they’ll like us after we actually talk about this like you know, adults who are going to make a nasty-ass sex tape.”  Dean leads Sam to the bed and makes him climb in first, keeping him down by putting his head on Sam’s shoulder and throwing his arm across his chest.  Sam’s skin is cool under his ear, and Dean immediately starts to get sleepy again.

            “Do people talk about it, Dean?”  Sam yawns, and Dean closes his eyes in sympathy.

            “Sure they do.  Wouldn’t you want to before someone taped you stuffing your cock in another person?”

            “Well, that person is you, Dean, so… yeah, I guess I would.”

            “Exactly.  And we’ll get good shots of it, Sam, and any other places your dick might go.  Wouldn’t be fair to you if we didn’t.”  Dean reaches up and runs his fingers through Sam’s hair, smiling against Sam’s mouth since he can’t exactly see it.  “Promise.”

            Sam kisses him back, not completely chaste but definitely not enough to indulge in three am frottage, either.  “I’m not crazy, Dean, I was doing legitimate research.”

            “And that, Sam?  That’s the part that’s scary about it.  Because who the hell actually looks at amateur porn and decides to deconstruct a thesis on it?”  Fuck, Dean’s tired, and if Sam’s got a retort he has about thirty seconds before Dean’s dead to the world and unable to hear it.

            Even though he can’t see Sam’s eye roll, he can most certainly feel it.  “You don’t _desconstruct_ a thesis, Dean, you write one – and… yeah, whatever, pretend to be asleep, jerk.”

            Dean loves him, truly.

___

            “Dean, hold still, I don’t want to cut you.”

            “It fucking _tickles, Sammy,_ I told you.”  If Dean had known that getting his ass shaved was going to be this twitch inducing, he’d have told Sam it was a bad idea and to not listen to him.  And no, it wasn’t at the behest of Sam (who’s insisted on several occasions over the last couple days that he likes Dean’s body hair exactly as it is) but Dean had roped him into it anyway, seeing as how he can’t exactly see everything back there, and Sam’s just as willing as he is to try anything once.

            “And it’s not gonna tickle when I cut your asshole and you die of some mysterious ass disease, now _hold the fuck still._ ”  Sam smacks him on the ass a little too hard, and Dean’s torn between yelping and moaning.  Add that to the three day beard that Sam’s grown out for this specific occasion and Dean can’t think about anything else except how it’s going to feel between his legs, catching and rubbing on skin that he’s never once bothered to try this one before.  Sam eating him out is one thing, and it’s fucking awesome.

            Sam eating him out with a hot beard and a shaved ass is something Dean can only _conceive_ of.

            “You almost done back there? Starting to feel like I’m waiting for the next cock at the glory hole.”  Dean’s been doing an admirable job of not flinching every time he feels the razor get close to the more sensitive parts but that’s starting to become more and more difficult to avoid.

            Sam wipes away the excess shaving cream with a washcloth and licks Dean once, right across his hole with the wet, warm tip of his tongue. Dean hisses and straightens up, looking at Sam giving him a shit-eating grin in the mirror.

            “Just you wait and see how long I let you do that on camera.”  Dean puts his towel back around his waist and checks his hair, scrubbed clean from their hunt earlier that morning.  “Any more of that shit…”

            “And what, Dean you just gonna let me finger you for ten minutes instead?”  Sam looks back at him and wraps his arms around Dean from behind, nearly a week’s worth of built up frustration and lust making him look a whole lot less soft than normal.  “Because last I checked, you liked having both.”

            “Damn right I do.”  Dean turns his head for a kiss, trying hard to save it for the camera – but this whole “don’t jerk off so it looks good for the film” thing has been killing him, enough to where just being within two feet of Sam has been enough to give him a semi for the last four days – and he’s _always_ within two feet of Sam, so yeah, it’s been torture.

            He breaks the kiss and lets his head dip forward as Sam nuzzles the back of his neck and ears.  “Which Sam am I gonna get out there today?  The rough, fun, break-the-bed kind or the slow fucking, make me wait it out til I’m crying version?”

            Sam laughs, chest vibrating against Dean’s shoulders with a rich sound that makes Dean break out in goosebumps.  “Oh, Dean, I’m putting you face down and fucking you til you fuse with the mattress.  That okay?”

            Alright, the fun kind it is.  “Just so long as it’s not actually uh, face down.  Best part of the video’s gonna be hearing how loud I can get, right?”

            Sam’s expression softens, just for a moment.  “Best part is gonna be us, Dean.  The world getting to see what just the two of us get, and no one else.  Can look all they want, Dean, but they can’t fucking touch.”

            Dean moans as Sam nips at his neck, one of about a thousand to come in a very short period of time.  “Amen, Sammy.”

            Sam smacks him again, the blow lessened by the thick towel.  “Now get your ass out there so I can fuck you into next week.”

            Like _hell_ if Dean needs to be told twice.

            Sam had gotten hold of a tripod a couple days before hand, and Dean’s careful to not knock it over as Sam hits “record” with his left hand and shoves Dean down on the bed with his right, coming down on top of him and pinning Dean with his body.  He glances at the camera, _you had better fucking watch this,_ and lets himself be overwhelmed by the kiss that Sam gives him, tongue going right for him.  Dean’s in it now, taking it like a champ mode. 

            The thing is, he’s not acting, neither of them are.  Yeah, they can fuck and make it look good for the camera but Dean can’t fake a damn thing with Sam, recording or not.  “Fuckin’ love it when you kiss me like that, Sammy.”  Dean picks his head up for another one, fingers sliding into Sam’s hair and holding him still, licking out his mouth and sucking on his tongue.  Sam groans, hips grinding against his own, his cock hard before Sam reaches down and pulls both away from their bodies; Dean’s naked except for his amulet, pushed to one side as Sam moves from his mouth and starts sucking marks into his neck.

            “Want ‘em to see, Dean.”  His voice is a low, soft growl, that one step away from threatening that turns Dean’s guts to warm slush.  “Want ‘em to see you’re fucking mine.”  Sam’s out for blood tonight, and Dean knows _exactly_ how hard he’s about to get fucked.  He honest to God does a full-body shiver, pulling Sam up from where he’s working his chest over with kisses and bites.

            “You have any idea how fucking hot I get when you do that, Sammy?”  Dean bites Sam’s bottom lip and sucks on it, hard enough to make Sam growl again.  “Goddamn right I want ‘em to see.”  Dean wraps his legs around Sam’s waist, the camera fixed perfectly to see them intertwined.  Sam goes with it for about thirty more seconds before he grabs it off the tripod and flips them, putting Dean on top and reaching to cup Dean’s jaw with his free hand.

            “Think you should show everyone how fuckin’ talented that mouth is, Dean.”  Sam holds the camera to the side for just one second to give Dean another filthy kiss before he shoves him down between his legs, grabbing his cock by the base and stroking it while Dean moves into place.  Even after a shower Sam’s got a fucking musk about him, and Dean takes over stroking Sam as he buries his nose in his pubic hair.

            “Smell so goddamn hot, little brother.”  Dean licks at the base of his cock and follows the path down to his balls, full and loose from their shower.  Sam’s right there with the camera, holding perfectly still as Dean sucks each one into his mouth and swirls his tongue around them, looking not at the camera but at Sam.  “Like what you see?”

            “Fuckin’ right I do.”  Sam puts his massive head on Dean’s head and lets his hair move through his fingers, warmly, intimately, entirely too private to be seen by anyone else.  Precome drips down the bottom of Sam’s shaft in fat, shiny drops – Dean laps up each one, catching them on his tongue all the way up to his slit.

            “Ready for this?”

            Dean swallows Sam’s cock in a second, giving zero time for him to answer one way or another.  Dean’s eyes water, fighting with every inch of his being not to cough and bitch out.  He’s been working himself up to this point for a good while now, ever since he started blowing Sammy again.  Yeah, he was big before, but now?  Massive, to the point where Dean knows good and well at some point he’s going to get lockjaw.

            But not fucking today, not when feeling Sam’s girth slide right down his throat brings such a loud, unbidden moan from Sam.  Sam shudders, struggling to keep his eyes open as Dean adjusts the angle of his head and holds him in his mouth, tongue moving against his skin and making spit drip down his balls. 

            “Shit, Dean, _shit._ ”  Sam’s head is still on the back of his head, resting but not forcing him down any farther.  Dean opens his eyes and looks at the camera, letting Sam see the tears leaking down his cheeks.  He pulls off of him very, very slowly, Sam’s shaft shiny-wet with saliva and precome.  He’s not done yet, far from it, but he had to prove that he could do it, could take all of Sam’s huge fucking cock in his mouth.  Christ, how many people have watched that insanely hot solo vid of Sam and wanted to do the same thing?

            Sam starts to grab his cock, only for Dean to bat him away.  “This ain’t yours right now, Sam.”  Dean’s voice is fucked rough, and they’ve barely started.  “You sit the fuck back and let me work, you got it?”

            He nips the inside of Sam’s thigh just in case his message wasn’t clear, and Sam obeys without a hint of protest.  “Show ‘em what you’ve got, Dean.”

            The best thing Dean’s found about blowing Sam is that he loves it as messy and sloppy as possible, none of that quiet, bland, just suck on the head shit.  No, Dean’s learned a whole fucking lot about how Sam’s mind works just by having his cock in his mouth.  Dean’s a pro at this by now, slurping, sucking, playing with his foreskin, combining every fucking filthy blowjob porn he’s ever watched and then distilling that down to his own take, existing solely in the moment to worship his little brother’s cock.  Sam gets louder and louder, mouth running wild and dirty at every single thing Dean does, _so fucking good big brother, yeah, stretch your fucking lips around my fat fucking cock, swallow me, more, take me deeper, Dean, know you can do it, so fuckin’ hot, Dean, so fucking_ perfect _-_

            Dean has to stop when his jaw and tongue are going numb, leaving Sam dripping with as much spit as he is leaking precome.  He knows he got Sam close doing that, could nearly taste the come about to flood his mouth.

            “Get up here.”  Sam’s hauling him towards his face as he says it, kissing Dean with barely contained passion, tongue-fucking his mouth, the camera just stable enough to not let the shot go out of focus.  Dean’s starting to get that floating feeling, so high on _Sam_ that he can’t fucking stand to not be as close to him as possible.

            Sam lets his mouth go and drops kisses along his neck, ending up right at Dean’s ear and whispering “you feel it too, Dean?”

            “Yeah, Sammy, I do.”

            Sam sucks on his earlobe for a second, whatever it is amplifying by a factor of a hundred.  He gives Dean another kiss and hands the camera off to him, leaving a trail of wet lip prints down Dean’s body, pausing to lick up Dean’s precome as he keeps going until his face half hidden by Dean’s body.

            “Spread ‘em, big brother.” 

            Sam bites the inside of his other thigh, and Dean does exactly as he’s told.  Sam slides his arms under his thighs, raising him up so that Dean can feel his hole against Sam’s mouth.

            “Fuck, Sam, been lookin’ forward to this all day.”  He grabs a handful of Sam’s hair and guides him, right to his hole.  That fucking beard scrapes against tender, shaved skin, making Dean do his damndest to get even closer.  “Been wantin’ you to eat me the fuck out.”

            All he and the camera can see are Sam’s eyes, stormy gray shot through with sunshine gold.  Dean can’t see his tongue but God does he feel it when Sam gives him that first slow, delicious lick, right over his hole.  Dean gets four of them, each one lasting a little longer, just so that Sam can get him to be louder.

            Dean knows damn well that this isn’t a fight he’s ever going to win (and that’s honestly, completely fine with him) – he closes his legs around Sam’s head and like when Dean was between Sam’s legs, lets him work him over.  Sam doesn’t fuck around with it, scraping his beard all over, nose smushed into his body as he licks and licks and licks, Dean’s thighs sweating and trembling as his sensitivity climbs higher and higher.

            “God, Sam, that’s fucking it, right fucking there, fucking get that tongue in there.”  Dean’s proud of himself, considering that any other time Sam’s mouth on him like this reduces him to babbling, moaning, the only clear word ever being _Sam_ as he’s opened up on Sam’s tongue.  He tries hard to keep the focus on Sam, his cock leaking and untouched against his stomach.  He can feel his precome starting to run backwards and pool in his navel, a fresh, huge bead leaking out every time the tip of Sam’s tongue catches on the rim of his hole. 

            He knows Sam isn’t trying to get a one up on Dean’s oral game but it fucking feels like he’s trying.  Dean’s starting to rub himself against Sam’s mouth, hips thrusting against empty air. 

            “God, Sam, can’t fucking take it anymore.”  Dean’s legs are shaking as he sits up and pulls Sam to him, his chin and cheeks a mess of spit and flattened beard.  “Need your fuckin’ cock in me right fuckin’ now.”  He kisses Sam, filthy hot and slow, pulling his tongue into his mouth.  Sam doesn’t let the kiss break but for a second as he turns Dean over and covers his back with his body, taking the camera from Dean and putting it on the nightstand.

            “Gonna look so fucking good when we’re finished, Dean.”  Sam reaches for the lube under the pillow, his left arm wrapped possessively around Dean’s chest.  “Swear to God that wrecked hole is gonna drive ‘em fucking wild.”  He uncaps the lube and pours an overly generous amount over Dean’s hole, cold but quickly warmed by Sam’s fingers.

            Dean bites the corner of the pillow as Sam works two fingers into him right away, fucking in and out with an efficiency that anywhere else would be clinical.  Sam doesn’t tease him, either, adding a third finger as fast as he can (and that’s whole damn lot stretching his ass as it is), kissing the back of Dean’s neck and shoulders.  Dean’s pinned to the bed, unable to move, completely and totally at Sam’s mercy.

            It’s not a bad thing that he doesn’t want to leave, is it?

            He can feel Sam trying to slide in a fourth, rubbing just below his interest – Dean feels like he’s been prepped enough, and yeah, it’d be hot, but he’s also approaching that fine line between fucking losing it before Sam ever gets his cock in him and wanting nothing more than to ride Sam’s fingers stupid – so he clenches, hard, and Sam takes his fingers out. “You ready, Dean?”

            “Sam, _please._ ”  Dean’s got himself twisted around so that he can look Sam in the face, Sam’s cock right against his hole.  He feels more lube trickle down his body, put there by Sam even though Dean’s already leaking with the stuff.

            “Look at the camera as I fill you up, Dean.  Want ‘em to see your face when I’m all the way in.”  Sam bumps Dean’s face with his nose and Dean does as he’s told, staring into the lens, mouth opening wider and wider with every inch of Sam’s cock.  Jesus fucking _Christ_ he feels even bigger than normal today, stretching Dean out to make himself fit – and yet, their bodies fit perfectly together, even when Sam’s completely bottomed out inside him.

            Dean gratefully closes his eyes for a kiss, sweat dripping from every pore.  Sam’s breath huffs against his mouth, giving them both a minute to adjust, making sure that neither of them is going to break just yet. 

            Sam grazes kisses along Dean’s jaw to his ear, caressing the lobe with his lips, whispering “love you so fuckin’ much, Dean.”

            Dean’s heart stops beating for a second, feeling like he’s just struck fucking gold and found out that yeah, his mom is actually alive and well.  He turns his head to find Sam’s mouth again, murmurs “love you too, Sammy” and moans as Sam grinds his hips against his ass.  He can feel his cock push just that half inch deeper, attempting to fuse them together one bit more.  Dean’s fucking floating right now, held down by Sam and Sam alone.

            “Gonna fuck the shit out of you, big brother.”  Sam starts to thrust his hips, slow, torturously so at first, opening Dean up on his cock with every movement.  “Fuck you so hard and deep that you’re still leaking with my come when we do this again.”

            Dean growls back at Sam, his neck offered up to that fucking filthy mouth.  “Goddamn right you will, Sammy.”  He’s listening for the precise, rhythmic slap of Sam’s body against his, waiting for Sam to find that perfect fucking groove.  He’s still on his side, the camera unable to see where Sam’s inside him.  He reaches for it when Sam backs off for a second and raises Dean up on his knees, giving both of them a hell of a lot easier access to each other.

            He feels very, very exposed when Sam lines his dick up with his hole and pushes back in, going even more slowly this time, capturing every fucking second of it.  Dean claws at the sheets, filled up for the second time in as many minutes.  He feels Sam steady himself, his hand against Dean’s lower back.  Dean pushes back on Sam’s cock, meeting him for the last couple of inches.

            “Cock looks so fuckin’ hot in you, Dean.”  Sam rubs Dean’s back, soothing him while he gets a better look at where their bodies are connected.  “Got the prettiest ass, big brother, swear you do.”

            “Bout time you started using it, Sammy.”  Christ, the whole brother thing is hot, it really is, but _Sammy_ just carries so much more weight for Dean.  “Getting’ old over here waiting for you to breed me – now put your money where your fucking mouth is _little brother._ ”

            The words are barely out of Dean’s mouth before Sam does exactly what he’s been waiting for, and all Dean can fucking do is hold on for the ride.  Sam doesn’t hold back on him, not a bit, fucking him so hard and deep that every single time Sam’s hips smack against his ass, Dean sees stars and galaxies blossom in his vision.  Sam’s cock just fills him up so fucking perfectly, nailing his prostate on every single thrust, leaving Dean gasping and moaning, Sam’s name uttered on every other breath.  His cock is so fucking hard he can barely stand to touch it – not like he needs to anyway.

            Sam’s going to make him come on just his cock, and Dean’s just going to have to be okay with it.

            “Dean, fuck, your ass, got me so fuckin’ close, _shit-”_ Sam’s losing his steady rhythm, speeding up more and more, chasing the orgasm that Dean’s already halfway towards.  “Fuck, gonna fucking come Dean, gonna fill you up so-”

            Sam’s words are bitten off by the hot rush of sudden, intense ecstasy, balls deep in Dean as he pumps him full.  Dean comes two seconds later, tipped over the edge by feeling Sam’s come leak out of him and drip off his balls, his cock jerking and spasming as he paints the sheets beneath him.  He’s got his mouth stuffed full of pillow, teeth sunk so deep into it that there won’t be getting the marks out of it now.

            He doesn’t fucking move until Sam’s pulled out and gotten glory shots of his wrecked, dripping hole, not quite hearing Sam sign off with something about being back with more later.  His body is so fucking overloaded with hormones and _Sam_ that his brain is a mess, buzzing and humming happily from Sam going full service top on him.

            Yeah, Dean loves him a whole fucking _lot._

“C’mere, Sammy.”  Dean turns over and pulls Sam to him, chest to chest, kissing and taking whatever he damn well pleases.  Sam slides his fingers into Dean’s hole and scoops out his come, sucking them clean before he shares it back to Dean.  He can’t fucking get hard again, not now, but his cock damn well tries as Sam feeds him the mess that they made.

            “Wasn’t gonna let the camera see _everything._ ”  Sam’s mouth is shiny and pink with come and spit, smiling down at Dean like he didn’t just fucking wreck him.  “This is just for me and you.”

            “Yeah, because who doesn’t like to watch snowballing?”  Dean doesn’t want to move, ever, if he can help it.  “Swear to God that wasn’t acting, either.”

            “No, it wasn’t.”  Sam kisses him again, nearly softly this time.  “But I think that anyone who sees it will know.”

            “You know what, Sam?  I think so too.”

           

           


End file.
